


A Mad Shawarma Party

by Yeomanrand



Series: Rand's Fic Promptly Fills [9]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, Gen, Movie Tag, Not Beta Read, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Present Tense, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeomanrand/pseuds/Yeomanrand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to the ultimate scene in The Avengers: Clint's thoughts at the Shawarma Place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mad Shawarma Party

Clint looks around the small table then glances at Natasha; she takes a bite of her own shawarma without quite as much vigor as Thor has been digging in to his and Clint catches the tiniest lift of her eyebrow. They're so far down the rabbit hole at this point he doesn't think either of them really know what will happen next. The two of them are damn skilled, but he can't quite figure out how they ended up sitting where they're sitting; by all rights it should have been one of them dead.

Natasha shifts her backside on the rattan chair, brushing against his calf and he glances at her and over to Tony -- who looks utterly worn out but pretty spry for a dead guy, Clint has to admit -- who is studying Clint. Not the same way Cap -- Steve, and that's going to take some getting used to -- looked at him just before he'd been told to suit up, but with a sort of distant curiosity. Something sparking in the back of his eyes; Banner has caught the look and is following Tony's gaze. Clint doesn't want to be the center of attention, so he looks back down at the rent in Natasha's suit at her thigh.

Nobody says anything. Nobody has said anything since they ordered and settled down at this table and it's strange. Not unpleasant, not skin-crawling-down-the-back-of-his-neck strange, they'd just sat down without jockeying for position or crude commentary. Like a team.

It's weird. 

He looks back over at Tony, who gives him the tiniest shrug.

Down the rabbit hole and out the other side, Clint thinks, and takes another bite of his shawarma.


End file.
